


Time fleshed

by Radiolaria



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Not Beta Read, Vignette, Warning : unexpected and gratuitous latin nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiolaria/pseuds/Radiolaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is born of time . And the way it consumes her will drag him along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time fleshed

'I seem to have scared the daylight out of them, haven't I?’

 

'It was the closest you could come to the reaction you expect for your little show, my oncoming storm. Worship is not easily achieved.'

 

 

 

 

He pulls a pouty face and rocks his upper body back and forth as if caught red-handed. His whole frame dances in the wait, responding to a hymn of quietness. Surprised by the lack of response he gets from her, still bent over her pile of dust, he sighs and theatrically extracts his sonic screwdriver from his inner pocket. He fiddles.

 

 

 

 

They could be two at this game.

 

 

 

 

Except she is not playing. He is neither. Time drips out, slowly, and before they know it, they have let an eternity go. It itches. The sum of the moments they have not spent together passes them like eddies of dust; volatile, irritating, unyielding.

 

 

 

 

He catches himself spying the way time flows around her, the little scratches and fractures and bendings that issue from her maimed time line. He knew before he felt that he would be drawn to her because of her scarred impossible sewn-back together time. He felt that not only she would love him, but terrifyingly so. And he is curious about that. He has been loved before, oh so much, by some. Yet so few have, what? Had the power to end time, the will to relinquish their life, the selfishness to give their death away? No. So few have possessed the power to destroy themselves on that scale for him.

 

 

 

 

She loves him so much she is willing to sacrifice her love for him.

 

 

 

 

She loves mercilessly and that is something he can fathom, mercilessness.

 

 

 

 

The way she looked at him. What she bets on that hand of hers. She is merciless. He cannot keep up with her, when she is all complex-human-eventy like that. He offers himself in sacrifice, all too aware of what she loses and he doesn't. She will consume them both, in the end. Only he is a phoenix. She is one flame of many.

 

 

 

 

Finally she shoves aside her work and sways her way to him. He revels in his casually letting her in, his closing the space between them, his skimming over her neck, his treading around her thoughts. This closeness, he is grateful for, even so temporary.

 

 

 

 

The famished little beast has caught his mouth and jerks him back out of himself right into her. For now, her body is so palpable, the cotton shirt, the leather wrist band, the fabric of her skin, the clockwork of her hair, the alchemy of her scent. Corpus indeed. So complex she is an opus. Perfectum. So delicate and intricate and warm and solid body. The buzzing of the infiniteness in every atom of her bones and muscles, the lonely chord of timelessness in every tiny electric jolt that runs her body. Galvanic tendrils of life. Heaven, does he love humans, does he love her.

 

 

 

 

How can those just disentangle themselves and turn to nothingness, he could never understand. He would work that out later. He concluded long ago – was it an eternity ago, when he fiddled with his sonic, while she brushed her enamelled pots, he cannot measure time with her, too much music within her body – he would ignite himself.


End file.
